The Iron Tiara Page 2

"Miss Christy told me where a key is hidden. I go in the house and use the phone to page her. I use a code so she knows it's me and it means the coast is clear." Before Anthony could reply he quickly added, "I don't touch nothing when I go inside, boss. I swear I don't. And none of the other guys see me do it. I make sure they're not around." He then waved his hand in the direction of the three other men who were off on the property mowing, edging and pulling weeds. "I let myself in when you were mowing out back," he said while staring at the ground.

  He cautiously glanced back up at Anthony and was surprised to see him smiling. He'd been working for Anthony for almost eight months and saw him every morning when he clocked in at the landscape office and nursery. He also saw him when he would show up unannounced at different job sites to check up on his crews. And not once had Lester seen Anthony smile. Not once in eight months.

  "Show me where the key is," Anthony said in a voice laced with authority. His eyes were steady and cool. "Then tell the crew to pack up and get out of here."

  "Sure, boss. But what about you? You won't have a ride. We don't want to leave you here."

  "Don't worry about me. I'll have a ride," he replied, giving the Corvette a sidelong glance.

  He smiled inwardly as he followed Lester around the side of the house. He watched him retrieve a key from an electrical outlet box that was attached to the stucco exterior wall of the home, well-hidden by shrubbery.

  Ten minutes later, Anthony stood with his arms crossed and watched his landscaping crew make their way down the long driveway. When the truck and trailer turned out of sight, he headed for the front door, spare key in hand. He thought of the woman who'd let herself inside not fifteen minutes earlier and knew that he wouldn't have to look any further for leverage to use against Van Chapman. His leverage had already been delivered. In a red Corvette.

  Chapter One

  Oklahoma 1958

  "You have made me proud, Anthony," Robert Bear told his twelve-year-old nephew from beneath the 1942 Chevrolet he was working on in their garage. Only his legs were visible as Anthony crouched next to them. He already knew the next tool his Uncle Robert would ask for, and he was feeling somewhat prideful when he laid it in his uncle's outstretched hand without being asked to.

  He could hear the smile in Uncle Robert's voice as he told his nephew, "You are a fast learner. Exactly like your father was at your age. I remember that my little brother could do an oil change with his eyes closed before his eighth birthday. You have inherited his skill. Tell me, how did you know what part I needed and where to find it?"

  Anthony swallowed the thick lump in his throat and stood from his crouched position. Glancing around his uncle's garage, he realized he was grateful he wouldn't need to look into the man's eyes while answering.

  "I knew what part to get because I remember the same thing happening with that ’48 Buick you worked on a few months ago."

  "And where did you get this part, Anthony?" His uncle's voice floated out from beneath the car. "It is costly, and I know that you are a good boy, a hard worker. I know you get paid by many of our elderly neighbors to help with some of their heavier chores. But I also know that even with the money you've earned and your weekly allowance from me, you could not have made enough to pay for this part."

  Just then, the board Uncle Robert had been lying on slid out from under the car, and Anthony found himself staring into black eyes that mirrored his own. Eyes that were not accusatory or judgmental, but eyes that demanded truth. His uncle sat up and wiped his hands on a rag, his gaze fixed on Anthony's.

  "I heard you tell Rosemary how much you thought it would cost to get her car fixed and it would probably be a lot of money because you still couldn't figure out what was wrong with it. And I know she said she couldn't pay you."

  Anthony looked away from his uncle’s knowing stare. Kicking the ground, he quietly said, "I just wanted to help. I know she's by herself and needs her car to go to work. If she can't work, she can't buy food or pay for her electricity or water. I don't want somebody to take Nisha away from her again."

  "So, this is about Nisha?" Robert said as he stood up and tossed the grease-stained rag into a bin.

  Anthony wouldn't look at his uncle, but instead focused on the floor. Nisha was Rosemary's ten-year-old daughter and Anthony's best friend. It was an unlikely relationship that started when Anthony had come to live with his uncle.

  Two Years Earlier

  Anthony had been the new kid at the school where Nisha was the outcast. The school bully, Albert, decided that he would make sure on Anthony's first day he would know who was boss. Albert waited until recess, and when he had everyone’s attention, he decided to grab Anthony by his long hair and tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't raised on the reservation, so he wasn't welcome.

  Nisha quietly watched from a corner of the playground, ignoring the afternoon heat and the sound of a bee buzzing around her head. She'd trade a bee sting for Albert's bullying any day. She felt guilty for being secretly grateful there was a new kid for Albert to pick on. She’d hoped he would leave her alone with another target to aim for. She knew why Albert teased and taunted her, sometimes getting physical when a teacher wasn't looking. She'd had her hair pulled and her arms pinched enough over the years that it barely even bothered her anymore. She convinced herself that when you knew to expect something, it didn't seem so bad. Besides, the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional pain that she felt.

  Albert made sure that none of the other girls played with her or accepted her into their friendship circles. She wasn't the only child at the school without a father. But apparently, she was the only one whose mother, Rosemary, was a sixteen-year-old who'd been sleeping with somebody's husband. Her family kicked her out when they discovered the pregnancy. Rosemary had been taken in by an elderly widow who'd later passed away, but left her home and meager belongings to the young mother and her illegitimate daughter.

  Nisha lived in an isolated, run-down house on the outskirts of the reservation. If it hadn't been for Robert Bear, it probably would've fallen into disrepair years before. He was the Tribal Chief and had done his best to help out the single mother and her daughter over the years. Unfortunately, Rosemary had continued to make some wrong decisions. It was downright sad that Nisha felt the impact of her mother's indiscretions.

  Nisha flinched and could almost feel the burning of her own scalp when she saw Albert grab the new kid by his hair. She was surprised when anger started to spark deep within her and she'd decided that no, she wouldn't pass the gauntlet to a new victim. She would do what she'd always done. She would fight back. With a new resolve, she clenched her fists and started moving toward the boys when she stopped dead in her tracks and caught sight of something that caused her eyes to widen. She tried to hide the small smile that was growing broader. Anthony had managed to land a punch to Albert's stomach. As the boy fell to his knees and gasped for breath, Anthony pushed him down into the dirt, grabbing Albert by his hair and grinding the boy’s face hard into the rich, gritty earth.

  She wondered if things would've turned out differently for her if she'd known how to defend herself properly. She always fought back, but Albert still got the best of her, making sure to always unleash his cruelty away from the eyes of an adult who could've prevented it or intervened. It no longer mattered. Albert had finally gotten what he had coming. She wished she could've been the one to put him in his place. Maybe now he would know what it felt like and leave her alone.

  It had been wishful thinking. After having been humiliated by the new kid, Albert had gone back to tormenting Nisha and a week later he took the opportunity to let loose more of his viciousness when their teacher stepped out of the room.

  "Continue working on your handouts," she announced from behind her desk. "Today's room monitor is..." The teacher hesitated as she scanned the room. "Nisha. It won't take me long to run off some copies, and when I get back, I'll collect your handouts."

  Nisha looked around
nervously. She saw Anthony working on his handout. Her eyes slowly landed on each child in the room. They were all doing what the teacher had requested. A prickle of fear combined with irritation ran up her spine when her gaze landed on Albert, who sat two rows over from her. He was staring at her with hatred more intense than she'd ever witnessed before. He was obviously fuming about the beating he'd taken a week ago, and she knew he was going to take it out on her. Again. She gulped as Albert got up from his desk and strode toward her. The other kids, noticing movement, looked up from their worksheets.

  Nisha quickly stood up, bracing herself, and wondered if she should stop trying to defend herself. Albert seemed to enjoy it when she fought back. Maybe if she didn't put up any resistance, he would get bored and leave her alone. Her mind was racing as she tried to figure out the best course of action, when she caught sight of Anthony. He'd looked up and was watching her with a curious expression on his face.

  Anthony frowned when he realized Albert was approaching Nisha, the girl with the long dark hair and big brown eyes that were filled with fear and determination. He'd watched Albert bully her a few times in the past week. He couldn't be certain, but he thought she'd started to come to his defense the first day Albert had tried to intimidate him. He'd considered more than once about intervening on her behalf, but being the new kid, he didn't want to bring unwanted attention to his family. Even though he was positive he would never fit in at his uncle's home, he was grateful to have been taken in.

  Anthony had to admit, he admired Nisha. He'd watched all week as she stood her ground against the school bully. She was on the losing end every time because she didn't know how to defend herself properly. He would make sure that changed today.

  Before Nisha knew it, Albert was in front of her. He was making nasty comments about her clothes, but she barely heard him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anthony stand up. When Anthony knew she'd seen him, he pointed to his right knee and lifted it high. He then pointed at his crotch and nodded at her.

  Nisha looked back at Albert when she felt the hard pinch to her arm. Stifling a cry, she lifted her knee like she'd seen Anthony demonstrate and connected with Albert's groin. He bent over in pain, and once again she glanced Anthony's way. He nodded and motioned for her to grab Albert's head and bring her knee up again. Without hesitation she mimicked Anthony's movements, and when she looked back at him, she could see the admiration on the new student's face. She knew deep in her heart that they would become friends. Inseparable, lifelong friends.

  She didn't care that when the teacher returned she was reprimanded and had to clean up the classroom floor that was splattered with blood from Albert's face. She didn't care that she had to write a letter of apology to Albert for almost breaking his nose. She didn't even care that some of the girls tried to be her friend after that day. She no longer craved or wanted their friendship. She may have only been eight years old, but she learned two important life lessons. The first was that she was finished being a victim, especially now that she knew how to defend herself. The second lesson was that sometimes life requires that you fight dirty to survive.

  "Your answer shouldn't take this long, nephew," Robert chided, as he slowly walked toward his dead brother's only son. Laying a hand on Anthony's shoulder, he gazed down into the boy's eyes and said, "Telling the truth, even if it's painful, is always the best way. You don't have to ponder or think about the truth. It's always there so it slides off the tongue more easily. Yes, people say that lies are easy too, but they carry a burden with them. Lies weigh you down. Never hesitate to tell the truth, Anthony."

  "I stole it. I stole the part, Uncle Robert," Anthony blurted out. The air left his lungs, his entire body deflating as he shrunk in defeat. He felt his uncle’s hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked up and saw a smile on his face.

  "I know why you stole the part, Anthony, and I am proud of you for owning up to your crime. However, you will still have to be punished for this. I will pay the person you stole from, and you will work it off."

  Robert Bear watched as his nephew stoically accepted the reprimand and the penalty. There was no whining or complaining. He thought about his younger brother, Daniel, Anthony's father, who'd run away when he was still a teenager and at the age of twenty-one returned to his family with a pregnant bride. Robert wasn't lying when he told Anthony that he'd inherited his father's skills. Daniel had been an excellent mechanic and could've earned a decent living. Unfortunately, after only a short time with his family, Daniel moved away with his wife and new baby boy when it became apparent that he had a problem with alcohol. The Bear family lived by a strict rule of never bringing liquor into their homes. They'd seen it destroy too many lives. Tired of the constant hounding by his parents, Daniel broke contact with his family by moving away and not leaving a forwarding address. They hadn't heard anything about him until two years earlier when they were tracked down by social services. Daniel Bear had died of unknown causes leaving his ten-year-old son, Anthony, an orphan. The whereabouts of the child's mother were unknown.

  "You are accepting your punishment with honor. You are developing the qualities that our people look for in a Tribal Chief."

  Did Anthony hear his uncle correctly? "But…but…I thought you would be teaching RJ to be a good chief."

  RJ was Robert's only child. He was seventeen years old and would barely graduate high school in the spring.

  "Robert Junior is weak. Not physically, but mentally. He assumes that he will follow in my footsteps, not because he has earned it, but because he is entitled to it. I cannot allow this. When my time is up, a new chief will be elected. RJ will have to prove himself." He gave his nephew a serious look, his expression one of pride. "You show more responsibility, compassion and ambition at twelve than he does at seventeen. And considering how you had been living, your strong character is an admirable accomplishment."

  Robert's voice was even as he continued, "You have made a mistake and now accepted your sentence. Robert would be scheming to avoid his punishment, as he has always done. He mistakenly thinks that I am going to set the table and invite him to the dinner." Robert looked into his nephew’s eyes and knew that the boy understood the analogy.

  "I do not blame him. It is my fault he is the way he is, and I am afraid it is too late for him to learn a new way." He paused and let out a long sigh. Regaining his composure, he stood up straight and continued, "But you, Anthony, will be the one who not only sets the table, but you will provide the meal and make sure everyone receives their fair share of the food. Sadly, my RJ would keep the food all to himself."

  Before Anthony could respond, his uncle added in a soft voice, "And you have used great restraint in watching your words. Especially around your aunt Carolyn. Like I told you the first time you used inappropriate language in our home, the use of profanity in place of what you are meaning to say is a sign of a weak mind. And whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble. You have respected my home by choosing your words carefully. You have come a long way, Anthony. Your aunt and I are very proud of you."

  Anthony found himself standing a little taller and puffing out his chest. Tribal Chief. If he became the Tribal Chief, he could do more to help people like Rosemary and Nisha. He knew that his uncle tried hard to assist those in need, but Anthony would try even harder. He now had a goal. He now had a purpose. Perhaps one day he could even open a garage and have his own business. If he earned enough money, he could give it to the people on the reservation who needed it the most. His uncle was right. Anthony knew his way around a car engine. He loved to mend things. Bring something broken back to life. He shuddered when he remembered trying to wake his father up. That was one situation he couldn't repair or revive. And he felt no guilt in his twelve-year-old heart when he realized that that was one thing he was glad he couldn't fix.

  "I'll get the seventeen dollars I have saved, Uncle Robert. I want to give it to you so you can keep track of what I need to pay back to the garage where I s
tole the part. I'll be right back!" he called as he headed for the door that led into the kitchen. He was inside and had almost closed the door when he had a thought. He'd wanted to use some of that seventeen dollars to help Nisha get a new coat. It would be cold soon, and he knew she'd outgrown the used hand-me-down someone had given her last year. He started to walk back out when he heard his cousin's voice raised in anger.

  "How can you stand there and tell that half-breed orphan that he has what it takes to be Tribal Chief? I'm your son. Not him!” RJ raged at his father through gritted teeth.

  Anthony peeked through the slit of the door. RJ must've been outside the garage listening to their conversation. The smell of whatever had been used to mop the kitchen floor was making Anthony's stomach churn. What did RJ mean by half-breed?

  "That boy has tried harder in the two years he's been with us than you ever have, son. I'm sorry if this hurts your feelings, but I see his potential. He's already moved up the two grades he'd lost when he first came here. And being in a stable home, a normal family is bringing out the best in him. Even if he doesn't aspire to be Chief, he will aspire to something." RJ kicked the tire of the car he'd been working on. "I didn't even know what was wrong with Rosemary's car, but Anthony figured it out. He's twelve years old, and he knew what part this car needed before I did."

  "He's not even full-blooded Cherokee. Wasn't his mother some Seminole whore your brother found in Florida?" RJ sneered.

  "RJ!" Robert snapped. "We do not judge each other like the white man does. We accept brothers and sisters from other tribes. We intermarry happily and without prejudice. Your cousin is not a half-breed, and you will not disrespect Anthony's mother with your crass language."

  "I know the story. I heard you and Mom talking when I was younger. Anthony's mother was a prostitute. Your brother was a drunk. He knocked up a whore and thought he'd bring her back here and dump them on Grandma's doorstep. Don't you think it's about time someone told your precious little good-for-nothing thief about his mother? She's probably still turning tricks who knows where." He paused, and before his father could reply added, "Or dead."